


Happy Endings

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, Roleplay, Self-Lubrication, Slurs, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3248324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After surviving the battle, Thorin spends one last night with his treasure and his playful Bilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silverdawn89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverdawn89/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Happy Endings 美好结局](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277232) by [Glacier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glacier/pseuds/Glacier)



> A/N: Fill for anon’s “fucking on a big ass pile of gold ok. that's literally it. idk maybe the only way to keep thorin's goldsickness at bay is sex, or it's just after the BOFTA and it's sweaty, frantic, omg-we're-alive-let's-fuck-right-here-on-this-ginormous-pile-of-treasure sex [...]” request on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=25292405#t25292405).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It seems ridiculous, miraculous, that out of all the dead, none of the fourteen have fallen. All of Thorin’s friends, his greatest allies, those twelve dwarves that vowed to follow him to the end, still remain standing. Even little Bilbo somehow made it through, with less bruises than the rest of them but just as much bravery. Seeing all the blood and desolation outside Erebor’s great gates isn’t easy, but Thorin knows that luck’s been with him, that he came out better than he had any right to. The lust of the gold’s faded in the truer light of war, and he sees now that they could’ve been united from the start, dwarves and elves and men fighting off the orcs together. Instead, they splintered under his foolishness, lost so many, and in the end, after all of that, still Thorin knows that he’ll have to share his treasure. 

He asks the other dwarves for one last night amongst his hoard, and they look into his eyes and understand; he’s sane again, one of them, he just... needs this moment. One last time. He bids Dáin and all their other kinsmen into the mighty halls of Erebor, where they filter off to sleep, exhausted from the fight. The elves and men don’t ask for shelter in the mountain, instead slinking back to Dale, with Gandalf’s promises that the matter of the Lonely Mountain will be settled another time, when everyone is whole again and the dead are properly buried. 

It leaves Thorin on his own, King Under the Mountain, with blood on his hands and a weight on his shoulders, but a lightness in his heart. He made it out alive. He made so many mistakes. They’re over now, and he doesn’t follow the other dwarves to the guest chambers of old, already laden with cobweb-covered beds. He lets his feet take him to the familiar stretch of the royal hall, the place where everyone avoids because of the reminder of the dragon. Overhead, certain torches still cast an eerie light, and the reptilian musk still permeates the air. All of the gold still untouched, and Thorin wants that one last chance to see his treasure whole.

Down beneath the twisted steps up to the throne, he finds Bilbo waiting atop a hill of gold, just before a pillar with a torch held high above. It washes the area in a yellow-orange glow, making Bilbo look so very _warm_ and _beautiful_ that Thorin’s strides quicken of their own accord. 

He comes climbing up the mound with heavy steps, scrambling to keep his footing in a messy slide of jewels, and Bilbo looks at him with a wide, sincere grin. They all thought they’d lose each other. Even though Thorin was told Bilbo survived, it isn’t the same as seeing so for himself. It makes his gut clench, thinking of his poor little hobbit, brave but so very sweet, amidst a giant clash of war, with monsters trained all their lives to spill blood and the din of battle all around. One misplaced swing of a sword, one unlucky arrow, even a single fallen shield, and Bilbo wouldn’t be here. 

But Bilbo’s right where he promised, looking perfectly well and then some, beckoning Thorin closer. It’s all Thorin can do to stop at the top of the hill, short of tackling poor Bilbo to the ground and feeling that life below his hands. 

“Done everything?” Bilbo asks, quiet, even though they’re alone. Maybe just to contain the echo. He sounds too cheery for everything they’ve been through, so quaint: a true child of the Shire. Thorin can’t help his grin as he nods. Even though Bilbo’s sitting, Thorin stays on his feet, because there’s something reassuring about towering above. He rather likes Bilbo looking up to him, and he wants to stand tall at the center of his gold like the statues of his ancestors. It must show on his face, because Bilbo’s smile dulls around the edges, and he adds, “You know you can’t keep it all, Thorin.”

Thorin frowns. He sighs, “I know.” And then, without even meaning to, he admits, “And I suppose I should be glad for it. What it did to me...” No, that isn’t it; what Thorin did to _himself._ He shakes his head and admits, “I am sorry, Bilbo. I feel horrible for the way I treated you.”

The smile comes back, though a little sad. “It’s alright. You had goldsickness; it wasn’t your fault.” It was, and Thorin opens his mouth to say that, but Bilbo shakes his head and insists, “I forgive you.” Only because the discussion’s painful, Thorin accepts Bilbo’s word. Another time, perhaps, he’ll find a way to make it up to his burglar, but for now, there’s nothing he can do. Bilbo must see that confliction in Thorin’s eyes, because he moves the subject to an almost coy: “...And we have it for one more night, I suppose. The other dwarves aren’t going to be coming by?”

“They’ve granted me this privacy.”

“Then maybe we should celebrate our last night.” There’s a faint flush on Bilbo’s cheeks that tells Thorin exactly what that means. 

Thorin came with good intentions. He meant to apologize, truly, and take Bilbo back to a proper place to sleep together, snuggle up in the heady knowledge that they’re alright again. He did want the chance to speak to Bilbo alone, but he was going to be chaste, good. 

But now, seeing Bilbo sitting so sweetly amidst all the finery, the familiar hunger stirs in Thorin’s chest. The very first time he saw Bilbo, he had a spark of it—he was skeptical of Bilbo’s strength, yes, but Bilbo was more than attractive, small and fair and pretty, with his cute little pointed ears and his tousled hair and the too-proper way he held himself. He fed Thorin such good food, homemade, and of course Thorin had to think, tucked into the cozy little hole of Bilbo’s home, that Bilbo would make someone a good housemate. And then, as their journey brought them closer, he realized just how far beyond the home Bilbo’s talents went. He’s been invaluable to Thorin’s quest, but more importantly, to Thorin himself. 

And here he is, all alone in Thorin’s reclaimed home, looking up with the perfect mix of naivety and wit that makes him so unique. There’s interest in his eyes, and Thorin tilts his head, declaring in a deep, slow voice, “I suppose a celebration could be in order...”

Bilbo hunches his shoulders together, squirming his body as he leans forward, like being shyly drawn to Thorin. He dips his head in a show of submission as he sighs, “If that’s what my king wants...”

That makes the hunger spike. _My king._ It gives Thorin a special pleasure to hear the title slip so easily off Bilbo’s lips, when Thorin, of course, is no king to hobbits. This one, apparently, has willingly submit himself to Thorin’s clutches, and he looks back up through his lashes, all alluring want. 

Thorin growls darker than he means to, “I think I’d like that very much.”

“Good,” Bilbo murmurs, shifting his shoulders to make his cloak slip a little off the left one, revealing only bare skin beneath the white fur trim. “Because... I must confess I might not have hated it so much if you’d kept all this gold, and...” he pauses for effect, looking away to add quietly, “...and kept _me._ ”

Thorin’s fingers curl at his sides, clenching into fists in self-restraint. “And what would I have kept you for?” Although, he thinks he has an idea. 

“Oh, I would imagine a great king with all this cold treasure...” again, a pause, and Bilbo looks right up at Thorin, fully immersed in the game with clouded eyes and feigned innocence, “...might want a concubine to warm his bed.”

A feral noise slips out of Thorin’s throat. He tries to keep it down, letting amusement twist his smile instead. “A concubine?” He never thought he’d hear that word come out of Bilbo’s mouth, but then, they’ve spoken of Bilbo’s fantasies before, and perhaps he should’ve known this would fit. And Bilbo knows of Thorin’s predilection for his throne, too.

“Surely a big, strong king like Thorin Oakenshield would have many lovers,” Bilbo sighs, sounding wistful and wanting all at once. “You might’ve had fun with me on the road, but now that you’re a king... how could one little hobbit satisfy all of a great dwarf lord’s needs?”

Thorin’s fingers are digging tightly into his palm. As enticing as a harem might’ve sounded once up a time, now that he does have Bilbo, he can’t imagine any need for it. He plays along all the same, knowing how much his Bilbo loves a clever game, and he supposes, “That hobbit would just have to work very, very hard to please his king.”

“Even when he’s too exhausted from riding his master all day?” Bilbo asks, and Thorin can’t take it anymore—he sinks down to his knees, letting his armour dig further into the gold, right in front of Bilbo’s folded legs, hidden beneath him. Even sitting, Thorin towers over Bilbo, taller and broader and more foreboding, but Bilbo just looks at him with lust. Bilbo’s small hands reach out for his shoulders, forcing Bilbo to lean forward as he adds, “I suppose if I can be a burglar for a dragon, I can be a concubine for a king...”

“You will be, if that king orders it,” Thorin hisses, though of course, he’d never give any such order. He wraps one arm around Bilbo’s waist while they talk, drawing Bilbo so easily in, right up into his lap, while Bilbo’s fingers twist into his beard and hair. Squirming against Thorin’s thighs, Bilbo’s legs feel bare—perhaps his trousers were cut shorter in the battle, leaving more room to move. Thorin can’t be bothered to look, not when he’s busy watching Bilbo’s face and steadying Bilbo atop him. 

Bilbo breathes, “If that’s what his majesty wants.”

Thorin’s grinning lecherously and knows it. 

One hand still protectively holding against Bilbo’s back, Thorin starts to lower down, tilting Bilbo with him, until Bilbo’s lying flat against the bed of treasure with Thorin spread above him, balanced on all fours. The game is becoming less and less of a game, because now Thorin really is that king, and he’s picturing Bilbo, more and more like the future than a fantasy, spread out as his royal consort, done up in soft robes and made to rest in pillows. Hobbits do like their comfort, after all: perhaps Bilbo would be best suited to a pretty harem room, with nothing to do but eat and sleep and write his fanciful books until Thorin came to claim him. Licking his lips at the imagery, Thorin asks, “And what would you wear as my personal whore?”

“Whatever you want, Your Majesty,” Bilbo promises. “Maybe nothing at all, if you commanded it.”

A tempting offer. But Thorin, inspired by the crown of gold beneath Bilbo’s head, suggests, “Jewelry, perhaps. Only the finest, of course, for my favourite courtesan. I would find you necklaces and bracelets and rings of sparkling gems, drape pears through your hair and a golden collar around your neck, perhaps cover you in Dwarven delicates, special lingerie, or a short, expensive mithril skirt...” Every possibility he can think of is as good as the next, from the ones where he has Bilbo bare to the idea of Bilbo wearing only a thong of strung-together coins. Bilbo’s breathing harder than when the started; he must like the idea. He would probably let Thorin dress him, too, in just about anything, and Thorin thinks of when he slipped the last mithril vest over Bilbo’s head, and how it might’ve been if Bilbo were wearing nothing else. 

“I’d like that, My Lord,” Bilbo mumbles, voice thick. His hands splay over Thorin’s chest, running down it, feeling Thorin through all the thick layers of fabric, and Thorin shivers. 

“We should start now,” he decides. With a wicked grin, he elaborates, “If you’re going to be a king’s whore, you’re going to need as much training as you can.”

“I have the job then?” Bilbo asks, grinning back, but adding at Thorin’s quick glare, “You Majesty?”

One hand stays to support Thorin’s weight, and he moves the other to Bilbo’s leather belt as he announces, “You have it.” Bilbo smiles excitedly, the emotion reaching his eyes. He tries to lean up, perhaps for a kiss, but Thorin lightly pushes him back down, intent, instead, on removing all these clothes. 

When he undoes the clasp and pulls the belt loose from Bilbo’s waist, the folds of his coat slip a little across either side of his stomach. Thorin pushes them back more, grabs their frayed edges and draws them all the way over Bilbo’s body, exposing all nude skin. Thorin pulls the collar down Bilbo’s shoulders, pushes the ends of Bilbo’s thighs, and there’s _nothing_ underneath: just pure, lush hobbit skin, peach and yellow in the firelight, dusted with golden fur between his legs and over his feet. His little cock is already reaching up towards Thorin, twitching once under the attention, the tiny head peaking out the foreskin. For a moment, Thorin is frozen, admiring every bit of the view, and finally he looks at Bilbo’s face, red with embarrassment and lust. Once, Bilbo might’ve covered his face with his hands, turned away and whimpered in shame, but now he’s given his body to Thorin so many times that it wouldn’t matter, and he must know how much Thorin loves it. Thorin lifts his hand to cup Bilbo’s cheek, his thick fingers brushing back through Bilbo’s soft hair, and Bilbo’s face turns to nuzzle into his palm. 

“I thought his majesty would like it,” Bilbo nearly whispers, voice sensual and honey-dipped. “I didn’t think I had any business hiding myself from my king...” He licks his lips, and Thorin lays his thumb over them, tracing the soft lines of Bilbo’s mouth. Bilbo is still at first, then pushes his tongue out to lick at it, to suckle on the blunt tip of Thorin’s thumb. Only when Thorin retract his hand does Bilbo finish, “And since my body is yours to own, why should I be allowed to wear things I haven’t been given by my master? None of your other possessions are covered, Your Majesty...”

Thorin stops himself short of saying how _perfect_ Bilbo is. They’ll be lovers another night. For now, Thorin smirks with the game, ducks his head down and hisses against Bilbo’s cheek, “You’ve done well, my pretty concubine.” Bilbo smiles at the praise, and Thorin takes Bilbo’s mouth, kissing him hard into the ground. It’s so merciless that Thorin can feel, can hear Bilbo’s head digging a deeper dent in the hill, little coins slipping down around him, but Thorin doesn’t let up. Bilbo’s fists tighten in his tunic, pulling at his front, holding on, while Thorin buries Bilbo in a relentless stream of kisses. He knows that his mouth is bigger, his tongue filling Bilbo’s mouth so completely, and that his beard scratches Bilbo’s smooth chin, but Bilbo only mewls noises of delight and holds tighter to him. When Thorin does pull away, he doesn’t get far, and spreads his mouth along Bilbo’s jaw instead, just barely holding back from digging in fierce bite marks to irreparably brand Bilbo as _his_. He’s going to have enough trouble in the morning without having to explain that his time alone was used to mar poor little Bilbo, who had escaped the fighting so clean.

While Thorin sucks and licks at Bilbo’s neck, Bilbo moans, “ _Thorin_ ,” then quickly corrects to, “My king, I’m sorry...”

“Your king is forgiving,” Thorin chuckles, because as hot as the title is, he never minds Bilbo moaning his name. He only manages to push back up and let Bilbo out of his mouth because another thought’s struck him, and he sits back up on his knees, straddling Bilbo’s body. Bilbo looks up at him, coat spread out below him like a blanket. But his arms are still trapped inside, so Thorin first tugs at Bilbo’s shoulders, signaling to pull them free. Bilbo does so, and Thorin, knowing it’s cruel to remove the protection but unable to resist, pulls at the edges of the coat. Bilbo rolls onto his side to let it be tugged out, and then he rolls onto his back again, fully silhouetted in gold. 

Thorin tosses the coat uselessly beside them and starts to spread the coins across Bilbo’s body, just to see the gorgeous contrast of the riches along Bilbo’s pink-flushed skin. The first place Thorin starts is Bilbo’s crotch, because that cute cock is too distracting, and he wants this to _last_. So he brushes over a small pile of coins, building them up Bilbo’s thighs, and Bilbo shivers and groans but doesn’t once complain. Thorin builds him a little covering that makes Thorin think of some filthy, ancient chastity device, used by tyrants to keep their consorts ‘pure.’ With Bilbo, it isn’t a wholly unpleasant thought, and Thorin stares at his handiwork for a few seconds before moving on. 

Next, he manages to find two rings amidst the sea of jewels, each sparkling with diamonds. Elven creations, most likely; they’re too slender for Dwarven fingers. But they’re the perfect size to fit around Bilbo’s little rosy nipples. Placing the rings at Bilbo’s bellybutton, Thorin rubs his thumbs in hard circles around the center of Bilbo’s nubs, making Bilbo’s whole chest vibrate with the movement and his mouth fall open to gasp and pant. It doesn’t take long for the little pebbles to rise against Thorin’s fingers, and he tugs both lightly before he slips the rings over them, not snug but enough to stay if Bilbo doesn’t turn. Bilbo, of course, lies obediently still while Thorin dresses him. Thorin places a few extra coins here and there along his stomach, making symbols, and then Thorin’s own initials, which swell with each of Bilbo’s breaths before settling back down: Thorin’s mark on a living treasure. 

He finds, without having to search very far, a string of little gems, and that he slips into Bilbo’s hair, like a little crown. Another necklace he finds is shorter in length but thicker in size, a curved, flat sheet of gold, and that he wraps around Bilbo’s neck, fastening like a collar. 

When he’s done, he sits back to observe, running his hands greedily over the bare skin around the marks of his ownership. Bilbo, looking almost faint with desire, murmurs, “Do I please my king?”

Thorin only nods, still exploring all the view. Then he brushes the arranged coins off Bilbo’s stomach and hisses, “You’re _beautiful._ ” Bilbo glows. He opens his mouth, but only releases a shaky breath, eyes never wavering from Thorin. Even with all the splendor around him, all the riches decorating his body, Bilbo can’t seem to find anything to focus on but Thorin, and for that, Thorin’s both impressed and grateful. He lowers down over Bilbo again, held up on his elbows, to kiss Bilbo’s forehead, which makes Bilbo whine and squirm. Thorin can hear the gold shifting between his legs. “So pretty,” Thorin growls, “My pretty little hobbit, all dressed up to please his king...”

“ _Please,_ ” Bilbo begs, but he doesn’t say what, maybe doesn’t know. Just please _Thorin._

Feeling a strip of arrogance and power, Thorin kisses Bilbo’s temple and asks, “Please what, my treasure?”

“Please,” Bilbo moans, trying to arch his chest up enough to get some friction against Thorin’s clothes. Thorin can feel the hardness of the rings circling Bilbo’s nipples digging into him, and he lets the poor thing rub against him, knowing it won’t be enough, “You Majesty, please... take me... show me how to please you...”

Chuckling, Thorin tucks a bit of curly hair behind Bilbo’s pointed ear and purrs, “Eager, aren’t you, my little whore?”

“Yes,” Bilbo insists, and his arms try to slide over Thorin’s shoulders, though Thorin catches his wrists and gently puts them back—not yet. “So eager, Your Majesty, please. I wish only to serve you...”

Thorin kisses Bilbo’s cheek, drawing ever closer to his mouth. Knowing Bilbo’s unique biology—it was such a _delight_ when Thorin first discovered that particular hobbit quirk—Thorin muses, “And are you ready for me, little one? You know I’m very large...”

“ _So_ ready,” Bilbo promises. One of his leg shifts out of the coins, bent at the knee and trying to rub against Thorin, but that, too, Thorin pushes down. 

“You’re wet for me, are you? You’ve made yourself nice and loose for me?”

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo moans, hips trembling in the hill of coins to keep from bucking up. “I’m ready, I am—I want you _so_ much, My Lord. You make me wet, loose, weak...” Thorin presses in another kiss, just at the corner of Bilbo’s lips, and Bilbo makes a wondrous keening noise, only to lick his lips and beg, “Please, Your Highness, fill me up. I want to pleasure you so badly. I’m always wet for you; I can’t help myself. Please, _please_ let me feel your big cock inside me...” The dirtier words always seems so strange spilling from Bilbo’s mouth, but they make Thorin hard all the same, and he rewards Bilbo by finally surging against his mouth, filling him with tongue. 

Bilbo keeps rocking into him, and when Thorin lifts up again, he snarls, “I should fill you with gold instead.” Bilbo looks dizzy at the thought, and Thorin knows he would allow it too, but for now, Thorin can’t wait. He’s already fiddling with his own belt, and his other hand grabs at Bilbo’s thigh, pulling Bilbo’s legs out from under him. Bilbo obeys, the gold across his crotch slipping everywhere as he lifts his thighs into the air, spreading them around Thorin’s wide body. The creamy skin looks so soft against the hard black and grey of his trousers and armour, and if Thorin weren’t so wildly hard, he’d take the time to strip everything off. The halls were somewhat cold, but Bilbo’s made him hot, and Bilbo’s skin is warm to the touch, even in the places where the gold’s touching him. When Thorin has his belt off, he shoves at the waistline of his trousers, the other hand swiping the coverings of Bilbo’s crotch away. 

It leaves Bilbo’s pretty cock bare again, still rising, even after the weight of the coins, to reveal his tight little balls, lightly fuzzed with blond hair but pink beneath. Thorin grabs one thigh and lifts Bilbo up to see the tiny, puckered hole nestled at the bottom of his cheeks, dribbling a clear, slick liquid down across his ass. Bilbo makes a pleading noise, and his hole twitches, blinking open for a moment, shuddering in invitation. As soon as Thorin’s cock is out of his pants, Bilbo _moans_ and thrusts his hips up, desperate for touch. 

Thorin doesn’t waste any time, because he can’t, if he plans on coming inside Bilbo’s perfect body. The game’s made him hard, and even now, Bilbo tosses his head back and forth and whimpers, “My Lord, please...” It doesn’t matter that he’s conflating titles. His submission turns Thorin on like nothing else ever has, and his cock pulses in his hand, hard and ready to be buried in his lover’s soft flesh. 

He holds the crowning head against Bilbo’s flexing hole, ordering, “Relax.” In another setting, another place, Thorin might have opened him with fingers, caressed him or licked him to warm him up and prepare, but they’ve already had their foreplay, and he can see just how wet Bilbo is. He knows that Bilbo’s hole will house him, which Bilbo has explained is a great honour: even as much as hobbits open for their lovers, it takes a tremendous amount of love and arousal for them to open as wide as Bilbo must to take Thorin’s beast of a cock. Yet they’ve never had a problem yet, and even now, as Thorin rubs his tip around the puckered brim of Bilbo’s ass, the entrance dilates open for him. He pushes himself inside, just a little bit, grunts and lets it slip out, ignoring Bilbo’s cries. The next shove is deeper, and on the one after that, he stays inside and starts to rock himself forward, coming back to hover over Bilbo on hands and knees, with Bilbo’s ass hiked up on a pillow of gold. 

Bilbo throws his arms gratefully around Thorin’s neck and nuzzles into Thorin’s shoulder while Thorin pushes in a little bit at a time. Bilbo’s velvety walls suck at him with an exquisite pressure, blaring heat, and it’s _tight_ , like it always is, so very small and rippling around him with each of Bilbo’s shivers, but there’s enough room to keep taking more. It seems to take forever to get fully seated inside, and Thorin can focus on nothing else until he’s sheathed all the way to his balls. Then he pauses, giving Bilbo time to adjust and breathe, while he kisses Bilbo’s cheek and neck and plays with the jewels strung through Bilbo’s hair. 

Finally, Bilbo squirms and begs, “ _Please_ ,” and Thorin knows. He obliges, sliding his cock almost out, just to shove it back inside, and Bilbo gasps and clings to him tighter. Bilbo’s whole body is growing slick with sweat from the strain of taking Thorin’s cock alone, and he knows he isn’t far behind. He rocks in anyway, rolling into a steady rhythm of thrusting in and sliding out, Bilbo’s ass squeezing at him the whole time. 

Bilbo starts to kiss him, too, press needy little pecks into his beard and larger, messier nips up his face. Before Thorin can cover his mouth, Bilbo moans, “I can’t... wait...” he has to pause each time Thorin thrusts into him, because then he’s busy crying out, but he still manages to say, “...to ride you... in your throne...”

“Yes,” Thorin hisses, not even caring that Bilbo missed the title. He covers Bilbo’s mouth with his own, wildly filling Bilbo’s mouth with a relentless kiss. He fucks Bilbo with his tongue and his cock at once, and as soon as he pulls back, he’s promising, “I’ll take you in my lap every chance I can, my dear Bilbo.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Bilbo moans, only to gasp a moment later. “I’ll ride you... every night... so you’ll never— _ah_ —need another consort...” The imagery swirls in Thorin’s mind, utterly intoxicating. 

Somehow, he still finds the coherency to darkly tease, “I don’t know—I might like a little harem of hobbits, all dripping wet for their king...”

On one particularly hard thrust, Bilbo throws his head back, and the coins go spilling about again, rocked as they are by every thrust. The constant clatter of them mingles with the wet slapping sounds of flesh-on-flesh, and all of Bilbo’s beautiful noises. Over them, he promises breathlessly, “But so will _I_... Your Majesty... I’ll always be wet for you... even if I... if I pass out from exhaustion... you could still take me, even while I slept—any time at all—my body will always be ready for you, and... yours to claim...” He seems to struggle to regain his head, twisting to look up at Thorin again, his irises almost completely swallowed in his dilated eyes. “I will _always_ be yours, my king.”

Thorin kisses him so fiercely that he screams right into Thorin’s mouth, cut off as Thorin devours his lips and his teeth and his tongue. Bilbo’s hips jump back into him, body tightening around him, and for a moment, it all becomes too much. The heat and the pressure and the pleasure of it crowd into his head, the scent and feel and taste of Bilbo and all the gorgeous noises cause a sensory overload, and he makes it worse by lifting up to see everything that his pretty Bilbo is again, all draped in his gold. 

He comes with a feral roar, slamming into Bilbo’s waiting body and nearly collapsing over Bilbo, grabbing him up and holding him fiercely in as Thorin pounds his seed as far into Bilbo’s body as he can go. Bilbo shrieks back and clutches on desperately, body wracked with wild spasms around him. The pleasure’s all too much. Thorin spills himself inside Bilbo and thrusts load after load in, rubbing it deep into Bilbo’s flesh.

Bilbo, so beautiful and sweet, moans a weak, screamed-hoarse, “ _Thorin._ ” He’s spilling all over the front of Thorin’s robes a minute later, without even having Thorin directly touch him. Thorin would’ve wanted it to last, but the fantasy is just too much like _everything he’s ever wanted_ , and he slumps down over his precious lover, heaving with struggled breath and the aftermath of his orgasm. 

Bilbo lets himself be crushed. They lie like that for a moment, Bilbo shuddering beneath him, and he holds Bilbo tight and pets Bilbo’s hair and helps milk out everything Bilbo has to give. When it’s done, Thorin’s tempted to stay right here, buried to the hilt in his darling Bilbo, set to sleep encased in this pleasure. 

But Bilbo pushes a little hand against his chest, and Thorin forces himself to lift back up, to pull off, sit up with his huge body still nestled between Bilbo’s limp legs. Thorin takes a second to enjoy the sight of Bilbo’s cock dribbling faint remnants onto his stomach, and then he withdraws his cock from Bilbo’s body, very slowly, so he can watch the puckered brim release his engorged flesh, dripping his seed around all the edges. 

When he’s pulled out, he thinks of plugging Bilbo—grabbing the nearest chunk of gold big enough and stuffing it right inside. But he knows he should give that poor hole a rest, so he only reaches for Bilbo’s discarded coat. 

He helps lift Bilbo up, who holds loosely onto Thorin’s neck to help, while Thorin slips the coat back into place. Then he settles Bilbo down on the too-thin, makeshift mattress, hoping it leaves some relief.

“Are we sleeping here, my king?” Bilbo murmurs. Thorin grins and almost laughs; of course Bilbo would be so alluring, even right after. Bilbo smiles coyly like he knows, and it earns him a kiss on his cheek that makes his eyes flutter closed again. 

“We will, my little prince,” Thorin decides. He nestles down beside Bilbo, spilling coins here and there, and rolls part of the coat over the side of Bilbo’s body, shielding him just in case another dwarf breaks their promise to wander this far in. Bilbo sighs dreamily and rolls to face Thorin, to snuggle tight against him and nuzzle into his chest. With one protective arm around Bilbo’s body, Thorin curls in too. Perhaps in the morning, Bilbo will tease about his promotion from concubine to prince, even though he’s truly been Thorin’s equal all along.

For now, the two of them drift off together, basking in the glory of their kingdom.


End file.
